If You Yell At Me, I'll Break
by mondae
Summary: Ever since Tweek and Craig got into a fight, their friendship has never been the same. Creek.
1. Chapter 1

I hate having class with him. I hate being distracted so damn much that my hands shake to the point where my name on my paper is an illegible scribble. I hate his cocky grin, whispering to his cocky friends; never glancing in my direction. Correction – he happens to look at me, it seems, at the moments I hate him the most. He sits two rows over from me in English class, directly horizontal. Jesus Christ, do you know how hard it is to_ not _look at someone when they sit directly horizontal to you? My hand twitched again. I hated having to lie. I hated making up excuses to my mom about missing work, just so I could watch him play baseball. At the thought of work, my whole body gave a shudder. My dad was going to kill me if I missed another day. My shaking hand brushed the blonde hair out of my eyes; which, ever so quickly, glanced back to _him._ He looked bored; leaned as far back in his chair as possible, and tapping his pencil on the desk repeatedly. His eyes were half closed, as if he was daydreaming about somewhere far away from 4th period English. His eyes were a deep shade of blue, like the reflection of a storm in deep water. The teacher mumbled something about war's influence on literature, but I wasn't paying attention – I just stared over at him. His eyes, without warning, flicked in my direction, and narrowed with confusion and suspicion.

"_Aughhh_!" my practically leaped form my seat, jerking my head back in the direction of our aging teacher. That didn't matter; he'd already noticed that I'd been staring. _Jesus Christ_! No one turned to see what my outburst had been about, which I was sure was due to the fact that I had them so often. My whole body was shaking, and I moved my pencil around my desk, as if to act casual. I could feel his eyes on my though, sizing me up; burning into me. I hated his stupid glare. I hated how after class I was sure he'd beat me up for this. Most of all, though, I hated how much I loved him.

However, he didn't beat me up after class. In fact, Craig Tucker didn't even look my way for the next three days. Even in the lunch room, where I sit so close to him that my heart feels like its going to fly out of my chest - his eyes never even wandered to my side of the table, let alone me. I tried to avoid him as well. _Tried_, being the key word in the previous sentence. Somehow I'd always run into him, though; at the locker, walking into the classroom – he even stood behind me in the lunch line one day. _Jesus Christ_. Just thinking about him made me jumpy. My hands were shaking again, and I inhaled deeply to try and calm my nerves. My eyes focused on the board, where our teacher had written several equations, which I, in my thoughts of Craig, had failed to hear the significance of. I hated our junior science class. Not just because I had a bad grade in that particular course, or the fact that our teacher was a 60-some year old, balding man, who droned on forever, but simply because of the fact that science classes in general seemed to make me more fidgety than usual. As if on cue, I drummed my fingers hard on the desk. The steady tapping of my fingers, echoed through the quiet classroom, and awoke the blonde haired boy seated next to me.

"_Mmmmnm nmnm_…?" He mumbled sleepily, his speech completely unintelligible. He stretched his arms, and yawned loudly, which the teacher didn't seem to notice. After rubbing his eyes, and ruffling his already messed up hair – he turned to me.

"Oh, hey Tweek," He smiled, his eyes half open. His sudden acknowledgement of me took me by surprise.

"_Augh-!" _I started, my hand twitching slightly.

"Mr. McCormick, Mr. Tweak," The teacher started from the front of the room, "If you want to chit-chat, do it in the office." I nearly fell out of my chair. Kenny just smiled.

Needless to say, I was extremely happy when that class was over, partway because I narrowly missed having detention (thanks to Kenny). However, the fact that science was last period made up for my potential-reprimand, because of how quickly I was able to make it out of the school. I breathed a sigh of relief –something incredibly rare for me- the moment the doors swung shut behind me. School was just _way too much pressure_.

It was snowing outside, and I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck. My coat offered little comfort against the cold, considering I couldn't steady my hands long enough to fasten the buttons. The chill added to my constant shaking. It seemed to be unusually cold this afternoon. Lots of students rushed past me into the student parking lot; some laughing, some rushing to get the heck out of there as soon as possible. I noticed Craig among them; a terrible neutral expression pasted on his face, considering his best friend, Clyde Donovan, was laughing along side him. My stomach dropped, and I quickened my pace.

I didn't have a car. I didn't even have a license, for that matter. My parents both agreed that I wasn't ready to be behind the wheel of a vehicle, which was reinforced by the fact that I failed drivers training miserably. I didn't live far from the school, but walking, especially on a day like this, was a huge inconvenience. I couldn't help but think of last year, when Craig gave me a ride home everyday. The feeling returned in my stomach, and I quickly pushed the thought from my mind. The snow crunched dully as I rounded the corner of the street. I heard the roar of a car engine pull up behind me. The sudden noise startled me, and I swirled around quickly, almost losing my balance.

"_Gah_!" I shouted, jumping away from the car directly behind me. My heart was beating incredible fast. The car was a light green volkswagen beetle - a car I didn't recognize at all. The window closest to me rolled down, revealing a boy with dark hair, and a confused look on his face.

"Tweek? You need a ride?" Stan Marsh asked, leaning over to pull the handle on the passenger door. I was utterly confused as to why Stan Marsh was driving this car – expecially since his parents had bought him his own last year. I'd seen him drive to school in it several times, half the time with Kyle Broflovski in the passengers seat. However, Kyle was absent today.

I was about to reject his offer, when a particularly cold blast of wind blew between the car and I.

"_Aughh_ – uhm, sure." I said shakily, sliding into the passenger's seat next to Stan. "Thanks."

"Dude, no problem." He replied, pulling the beetle back onto the road. The car smelled strongly of perfume, which confused me even more. Stan must have noticed my confusion.

"Ugh, I hate driving Shelly's car." He said bitterly, a furious look on his face. I didn't know exactly how to respond to him, so I tired to picture Stan's sister. I didn't get very far, considering I hadn't seen her at all since she left for college. "She just comes back out of the blue, grabs my keys, and leaves again." He continued angrily. His voice rose, mocking his older sister.

"I'm going on a trip_, turd_, and I need a car that can fit my friends!" He imitated. My hand was twitching, and I nodded a couple times to show I was paying attention.

"Now I'm stuck driving around this _stupid_ thing," He mumbled, hitting the steering wheel for good measure. He sighed, and shrugged. "It's really cold out today."

"Y-yeah," I agreed, glad to be off a topic that angered Stan.

"So how come you were walking, dude? I mean, doesn't Craig usually drive you?" The moment the words left Stan's lips, the knotting feeling in my stomach returned. My hands were violently shaking now, and my mind raced to find a response.

"Erg – _augh_ – yes, he was," I was so nervous that I was literally hopping up in down in my seat. Stan raised his eyebrows at my violent reaction to his statement.

"… okay." He said simply, pulling down my road. When he finally reached the drive, I nearly tore the handle off the car trying to get out. The cold wind hit my face the moment I opened the door. _Jesus Christ_, what was wrong with me? I turned quickly to Stan.

"T-Thanks." I stumbled.

"Yeah, sure." He said. He didn't seem that affected by the awkward conversation only minutes previously, and slowly backed out of my driveway. Unlike before, Craig stayed firmly in my mind, and the sinking feeling in my stomach was replaced by butterflies. The kind of butterflies you get when you're completely and hopelessly infatuated with someone. _Damn_.


	2. Chapter 2

The door was tricky. I had a key, and the general knowledge of how to use a key, but steadying my hands long enough to _put _the key in the hole, was the problem. Getting into my house took around 10 minutes normally, unless my mother was home to open it for me. Today she was absent, unfortunately. When the key finally clicked in the lock, I pushed the door open and dropped my books on the couch. The lights were all off, and the house was eerily quiet. I strode into the kitchen, which was equally abandoned and quiet, except for a small white note placed in the center of the counter. I picked it up, reading over the words quickly.

"_I am buying groceries, and your father is at the store._

_He will be back at 3:30 to pick you up._

_No skipping!_

_Snack in the fridge, Dinner when you get home._

_-Mom_"

I set the note back on the table, and opened the fridge. My mom normally left me snacks to eat before I went to work. I wasn't the most self efficient person in the world, partway because I'd grown up with her doing absolutely everything for me. She still made all my school lunches, washed my clothes, cleaned my room, bought my outfits and basically everything else I should be doing by myself at the age of 17. It did bother me sometimes, especially when someone at school would make some sort of joke, but I knew that if she didn't do it, I probably would forget. I took the snack – a small sandwich covered in plastic wrap, and set it on the table. I immediately made my way to the coffee pot and clicked the '_on_' button. This was basically my weekday routine, except Wednesdays, when I didn't have to work. I waited impatiently as the coffee pot warmed up. Coffee was the most important liquid to me, even more so than blood. I needed coffee more than I needed to breathe. I'd had the addiction to caffeine ever since I was old enough to hold a coffee cup. I grew up with my parents giving coffee to me, in place of when most parents would be giving juice or milk. I get asked several times if my caffeine intake has something to do with the fact that I'm so jittery all the time, but it's hard to tell. My parents say that there's nothing wrong with coffee, or caffeine for that matter, and that I was 'born this way'. My hands twitched and drummed on the counter as the painstaking minutes ticked by until my beverage would be finished brewing. When the machine clicked off, which was followed an incredibly euphoric shout of 'augh!', I quickly poured the coffee into the mug, and took several sips. I drank my coffee black; that's the best way you can get the full flavor.

I downed three cups before I started on the sandwich. I had swallowed the last piece of crust, when my father's arrival was announced by the crunching of snow and the sound of a car engine in the driveway. Time for work, _perfect_. My dad stayed inside his car, but honked the car horn a couple times to let me know he was there. I grabbed my neatly folded clothes from the small table next to the door. Another thing my mother did for me; I'd probably forget otherwise. I left the coat; it was too short of a distance to bother with. When I slipped into the passenger's seat, I shoved the clothes onto the dashboard.

"How was school, Tweek?" My father asked absentmindedly, turning to pull out of our driveway. My mind flooded with thoughts of Craig, and my reaction to Stan mentioning him on the ride home.

"_Augh_!"

"That's good." My father answered, pulling onto the road. My hands shook as we sat in silence. My father really didn't show any interest in my school life, but it never really bothered me.

Our family had owned a small coffee shop when I was in elementary school, but it had been run out of business by the new Harbucks while I was in third grade. Thankfully, though, my father had become manager of the coffee house shortly after; a position he stayed in until I was fourteen. In my last year of middle school, Harbucks had unfortunately gone bankrupt, and decided that keeping the chain alive in our little mountain town cost money that they didn't have. My father took the opportunity to buy it from them, and reopened his second "Tweek Bro's" coffee shop. I'd been working there since I was a freshman.

I didn't mind working for my dad, in fact, it was probably better. I would probably have a hard time getting a job otherwise, considering I often spilled things, or had trouble with customer service. I did know how to make coffee though, so I was in my element inside the little shop.

When my father parked the car behind the store, I quickly reached for my now wrinkled clothing. The store sounded crowded as I slid in through the back door. I jumped a little. A crowded store equaled _too much pressure_. We only had one other employee, beside me and my dad. He was a student at the community college, and he only worked during the weekends, and part-time during the week. He happened to be working today. I didn't know him; except for the fact his name was Chad. The moment I walked behind the counter, with my wrinkled yellow polo and green apron, he bolted quickly from the store. My hand twitched and I turned to help the next customer. Jesus _Christ_. This was gonna be a long day.


End file.
